Down The Mile
by gosalyngirl
Summary: Darkwing faces an obstacle, kill an innocent man for the sake of his family, or risk everything to set him free...


_Disclaimer: Yes. This is the same principal as The Green Mile- Stephen King. I KNOW! I intentionally did this. I wanted to show everyone how I felt Darkwing would experience and react to the same problems in the Green Mile. It was such a good movie and book that I felt Darkwing must be brought to attention by it! So don't go off saying I'm a copy cat or something, because I didn't mean to do so, but I meant to take an already depthful storyline that touched the hearts of millions and test Dw in it. So read on with a amiable mood :) _  


"What do you want me to do?" I asked, breaking the cold silence.  
I looked up at my responsibility; a certain thing I could make or break with only a little more than a twitch, and still yet I hesitated.  
I had gotten the poor boy off death row by an illegal kidnapping that could serve me a few years in prison, super hero or not. But I was'nt afraid of that. What I was terrified of is what would lie ahead of me once they thre the dirt in my face.  
"I don't reckon I know, Boss D." the monstrous man said to me, with the literacy of a child. I looked out over the city from my usual perch of Darkwing tower, and I realized then that I was sweating quite profusely, despite the chilly evening.  
I looked back at him, the hollow, full moon my only whitness as I said with shakey words, "I'll get you away from here, Bubba. I'll do it. Just say the word."  
Bubba, who was as black as the night, looked at me with watery eyes. "Boss D, why'd ya do such a foolish thing?"  
"Because....." I trailed off my voice. It was hard to say why, especially for a respected and well-known crimefighter. What would people say if word got out that I kindapped an illeged criminal on death row, issued to pay a visit to a row of black holes boring onto him, which were attached to a sleek metallic barrel and capped of with a trigger and a shooter. What _would_ people say?  
They'd call me an idiot. Just like before. But this time, I'd be unable to re-strengthen my reputation. Yet, I did'nt care.  
I knew what I had to do. I could'nt just sit here and allow this boy to unjustly fry for the wrongdoings of someone else. I just could'nt. I was a hero, goddammit, and heroes don't just stand around and allow that sort of thing to happen.  
"Bubba, I can't sit here and allow you to die as an innocent man."  
He just looked at me, then. Looked with those sad, melcancholy eyes of a broken-hearted child. It made me wonder how anyone could accuse this man of such a vexatious crime.  
"But ya've just got to, Boss D. It's de only thing ta do."  
I turned away from him, contemplating what I should do. I was caught in between a rock and a hard place, with only two ways out: let this man die for someone else's crime, or risk everything to set him free.  
"Boss, I know ya want to let me go, but ya can't. Ya've got to let me do this."  
I looked at him, staring into his watery eyes (he was sitting down and as I stood there we could see eye-to-eye) and said to him,  
"I can't do that. It revolts against every moral fiber in my body-" I looked at him closely. His body was enormous. Every crevice and crack resulted from bulging muscle. He made Launchpad seem petite, and before Bubba, Launchpad was one of the biggest people I knew.  
I opened my mouth to tell him that he was going to have to go, leave the country, and that I would do everything in my power to aid him. But when he took my hand in his (I could no longer see my hand, it was completly enveloped inside of his) my voice died in my throat. I knew what he was doing, I had seen it before. I had seen the pain, the gory, horrible feelings he felt. And I did not want to see them again.  
"Please, no.." I pleaded to him, when I felt my mind grow hazy.  
"No, Boss" he said in a comforting tone. "I's not gonna show you it again, I's gonna show you what'll happen to you if you's sets me free."  
Before I could object, my conscious threw me into another world as a jolt of numb electricity rocketed down my spine. I saw my daughter, my wife, and my unborn baby boy. They all looked beautiful, but when they looked at me, I could actually _feel_ their pain. That hurt me, but it seemed like a headache compared to the ravenous pain of seeing waht would happen to my wife and daughter when the escaped convict breaks into my home...  
"Oh god!" I yelled, seeing what he was doing. I wanted to be there, to kill him with my own bare hands, but all I could do was watch..and _feel_.  
"Oh god no," I howled, tears running down my face, but ran its' course unnoticed by me. Bubba released my hand, and my tiny body flopped onto the cold ledge of the tower.  
"See's boss, that's gonna happen to your perty wife n' chilluns if you let me go and get jailed up yourself." I heard him say to me, his voice insinuating him as three feet tall.  
I laid there, my body wracked with convulsions and my eyes squeezed shut to prevent the haunting memories from re-exposing themselves. My arms were wrapped around me, and as I tried to get up my legs buckled and I almost toppled off the ledge and into the icy rivers, where I surely would have drown knowing I had absolutely no control over my body.  
I felt his hands as he grabbed me, and with minimal force picked me up and sat me beside him on the ledge.  


My head was swimming, I felt naucious, and I was still shaking violently. I felt his colossal hand lay gently on my shoulder, and as I looked up at him, shameless tears rolled down my face.  
"Don't you worry, boss D. You's gonna catch that bad man b'fore he gets to you's family. If you let me die."  
I began to regain control over myself, little by little. I wiped my face off with my sleeve and looked credulously up at him.  
"I..I will?" I stuttered, trying to shake off what I had just seen but my attempts seemed in vain. He nodded once at me, first down, then up, then center. "Yessir. He do that to others, but you's gonna catch him b'fore he kills t'many."  
I was still shaking when I stood to my feet, and Bubba held out his hands as if I were his child and just beginning to walk.  
"But what about you, Bubba? Are you willing to die, to be loathed by the family of those two girls? When you get up there, they will yell at you. They don't know how wonderful you are, Bubba. They'll never know." I wiped my eyes again, and I was sure I would be traumatized by what I had just seen. But I could'nt allow that to happen. My family meant more to me than anything. Even justice. And as if I had said that aloud, Bubba nodded at me.  
"I's gots to go, Boss D. I's gots to. N'matter what theys says t'me."  
I nodded at him, I understood. He was willing to die for me, for my family, and for the victimes that might be saved if I were out to protect them, insted of incarserated.  
"Well, big boy. I guess we'd better get you back before they realize your missing." I still felt awful for having to do this. I was killing one of God's miracles. Bubba was special. He could heal the terminally ill, bring hope to the hopeless. He would be a big asset to this world. A little comfort in a place of continuous pain.  
And he knew what I was feeling.  
"Boss D," he said. He started calling me that soon after I interegated him for his murder. It was before I knew the truth, and before I realize how miraculous he was.  
"Yeah?" I replied.  
"Don't you feel bad for me dyin. It's what I's want."  
I looked at him in puzzlement. "But why? Why would you want that, Bubba?"  
He stood up then. And I backed away from him, my reflexes acting as the inhibitor. I looked up, up at him, and he said to me as simple as a child would say. "Because I don't wanna feel the hurt no more, boss."  


************* 

I never replied to him after he had said that. Namely because I understood. I understood how he felt. He saw it, all over the world every day. Every damn day of that poor boy's life. He was a miracle to everyone, but to himself, he was a curse.  


Bubba Crawford died on November 16, 1999. Executed by a firing squad for the murder of the two Jone's twins. They concluded that he was'nt to blame for the rape; the semen match was different. Yet he was there when they found those girls cradeled in his arms, naked and covered in their own blood. Their necks had been snapped, and his prints were found amidst the bruises that had developed. 

To this day I hav'nt told a soul about him. When my wife read the article on the front page of the St. Canard Post Dispatch, she was so appauled she would have spat in his face if she'd seen him. I did'nt reply, for I felt a prominate slashof guilt every time his name or face flashed through my mind.  


I continued on with life, and I captured the actual murderer of the two Jone's girls. He matched the DNA of the semen, matched the bruisings on the girl's necks, and the bastard matched the picture permanantly implanted in my head of the evil son of a bitch that would have raped my beloved wife and little girl and slit their throats, along with my newborn son; Dj. I still caught myself overcome by that malignant image sparatically, knowing that I could never continue my life without them. Saundra sometimes heard me, it predominately arose after a bad dream, or after we'd make love. She'd hold me until it passed, and I would say the same thing every time, "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."  
She would always wrap her arms around me and whisper that they'd always be here, and never to worry. Eventually the nightmares faded, and as Gosalyn left for college to pursue a career as an oncologist (who would have guessed) and my son, graduating as one of the top students in his class and venturing off to college subsequent to Gosalyn; I realized that everything would be ok. I could feel Bubba looking down over my family, almost as a guardian angel of sorts.  


I will never forget that man, him there with the body of a giant and the mind of a child. The man who nobely died for my family, and for the world. As long as I live, I'll never forget him. I'll never forget him for saving my life, in every way possible.  


_This is © Lesley Hall 11/25/01. Darkwing Duck and all Characters are copyright disney and used for nonprofit. The plot is copyrighted Steven King and not used for profit. Bubba, Saundra and Dj are all copyrighted by me and not able to be used without my permission._  
Back to Fanfic Page  



End file.
